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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Evening Pastimes 



BY 
W. A. HAVENER 



1916 
CLOVIS, NEW MEXICO 









Copyrteht, 1916 
By IV. A. Havener 




m 10 1916 

©CI,A433334 



W. P. OUNN CO. 

PRINTERS 

CHICAQO, ILL. 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Prelude 5 

Onward 5 

The Roses 6 

The Clouds 7 

No Rose Without Its Thorn 8 

Youth and Age 10 

The Dreams of Youth 12 

Wife Away 14 

Our Loved Ones Gone Before 16 

A Hundred Years Away 17 

When I Am Gone 18 

Poverty 20 

Lines on an Old Mansion 20 

An Old Stump 22 

The River 24 

The Meadow 27 

The Morning Sun 29 

A Wayside Ramble 30 

Oakland 2>Z 

When the Sun Goes Down 34 

A Memory 36 

The Old Home 42 

An Old Diary .45 

The Seasons 47 



4 EVENING PASTIMES 

Page 

Wife and I 47 

The Ruins of an Ancient Palace 49 

The Cottage 51 

The Unknown 53 

The Zephyr 53 

Government 55 

The Isles of Rest 56 

My Old Friend Tom 56 

The Hidden Hand 58 

Genius 59 

Regret 60 

Pictures 61 



PRELUDE 

Come, Muse, and help me pass the time away 
And bring the harp of some wise bard along, 

Sweet truths in music rhymes for me to play — 
For poetry is but wisdom set to song. 

And sing no idle lay about the stars, 

Nor wildly scribble with a half crazed pen 

About the far-oiT moon and moon-lit bars, 
But come and let us chat of hearts and men. 

And as we stroll recline upon mine arm, 
Suggest some olden truths for me to say, — 

For poetry is the pleasing, magic charm 
Of saying old things in a sweeter way. 

ONWARD 

Onward, ever onward, 
Tis a song I love to sing, 

Cheering all the weary hearted 
Onward to some higher thing. 

Onward to the golden, 

To the happy and the true. 

Not to fame and hoarded riches 
But some deed of good to do. 



EVENING PASTIMES 

Onward to the righteous, 

All who go at duty's call, 
Here I write them down as heroes, 

Though they battle but to fall. 

Onward to the noble, 

With a spirit not to yield, 
With a heart for any weather 

And the truthful for a shield. 

THE ROSES 

In the garden bright 

With the sunny light 
The roses through their tiny buds are peering ; 

In those lonely places 

Sad with sickly faces 
They'll gladden drooping hearts with gentle cheering. 

O'er each painted crest, 

In each leafy nest 
Lie artist touches with His love adorning, 

And bright emblem tints. 

And sweet sacred hints 
As lightly resting as the dews of morning. 

In the scented air 
'Mong the flowers there. 

How sweet the fragrant breath the rose imparts, 
* And where'er we go, 
May we ever throw 

Such sweetness kindly o'er all human hearts. 



EVENING PASTIMES 

THE CLOUDS 

Beneath a tangled spread 

Of foliage overhead, 
Here on the tufted grass I lie, 

My thoughts at idle dreaming. 

The far-off clouds now seeming 
Like snowy mountains in the sky. 

How beautiful they sail. 
O'er purple crag and vale, 

Like vessels on the placid blue ; 
Ten thousand sunbeams tint. 
Ten thousand emblems hint. 

The good, the noble and the true. 

Now comes the cruel breeze. 
With playful lulling ease. 

And tears the saffron clouds apart. 
As other winds have torn. 
And far away have borne 

Some cherished idol of my heart. 

The splendors stream in gold, 
The clouds like cares of old 

Are melting in the smile of day ; 
O, could I but forget, 
The grief remembered yet, 

And learn to laugh the pain away. 



8 EVENING PASTIMES 

Their sombre shadows fall, 

Alike on hut and hall, 
They float in mid-air like a feather ; 

And may thy sorrows rest, 

As lightly on thy breast, 
As clouds tossed on the windy weather. 

NO ROSE WITHOUT ITS THORN 

There fall in ripples from the magic string 
These sacred truths of all experience born. 

The sweetest honey has some bitter sting, 
There is no rose without its hidden thorn. 

Many a pretty rose of fairest hue 

Blooms lovely but to hide its prickly spear ; 

Many a pleasing smile that seemeth true 
Is closely wedded to some hidden tear. 

O, may thy every tear of hidden pain 

That falls upon thy troubled bosom make. 

Like flowers brightened, freshened with the rain, 
Thy manhood brighter, fresher for its sake. 

Again I hear it sounding on the lyre, 

A truth that all who strive to win must learn, 

The rugged ore that passes through the fire 
Is rendered far more useful for its burn. 

The cross, though once the hated type of shame. 
In triumph now adorns the jeweled breast, 

A star plucked from the wreathing, scorching flame 
Becomes a thing of pride forever blest. 



EVENING PASTIMES 9 

The crudest stone oft yields a gem most rare, 
The homely bud oft blows the sweetest flower, 

And oft the timid lad, half starved and bare, 
Becomes a man of wealth, of fame and power. 

O, who that sees the springtime bud can say 

How bright and sweet a rose may blossom there, 

And who observe the rugged boy at play 
And tell the coronet that he may wear? 

Whate'er the height that wealth and birth command. 
Though destiny crown with pomp the royal born, 

The world's great men of every age and land 
Are oft in youth the boys who plow the corn. 

Who climbs the mountain steeps to crowning snows 
And scares the eagle from its high retreat 

Must learn the rule that every climber knows. 
To quickly rise upon his own defeat. 

And though unknown to verse, unpraised by pen. 
Nor crowned with wreath in fame's eternal halls, 

He's yet the noblest, bravest of all men 
Who rises every time he slips and falls. 

For men, though great, perfection ne'er attain. 

They're still like babes out on the world's broad floor, 

They slip, they slide, they fall but rise again 
To step a little firmer than before. 



10 EVENING PASTIMES 

They are the men who cHmb up round by round, 
And if by chance they faint and fall today, 

They try again until at last they're found 
Triumphant over all that's in their way. 

Are faith and hope today becoming cold? 

Are threatening clouds impending from on high ? 
Tomorrow they will wear a crest of gold 

And flush around a pleasant sunny sky. 

Tomorrow we shall stroll through vales of ease, 

Forgetting all the worry of today, 
Remembering but the tall and graceful trees 

And happy flowers blooming on the way. 

The deep veiled years of life our destiny hold 
Entombed in mystery dark as ebon night, 

But if the future could our fate unfold. 

Would men be happier thus to view the sight? 

O, let us live those years in sweetest trust. 
But let us ne'er forget at night or morn, 

The silver dews our purple fruits may rust. 
There is no rose without its hidden thorn. 

YOUTH AND AGE 

Beneath a broad oak tree I saw a boy ; 
He shot an arrow, whirled a spinning toy — 
I thought that this was surely perfect joy. 
He paused amid his gleeful play. 
With doleful look I heard him say : 



EVENING PASTIMES 11 

"Wish I were as big as daddy," 

And he sighed with boyish tears, 
"Wish I had a suit of whiskers 

And big boots and guns and spears, 
For I want to be a soldier 

And a soldier in the van. 
Then I'll fight and win big battles, 

Oh, I want to be a man." 

Thirty years have come and gone 

With old gray time still ambling on ; 

Thirty years of toil and wear 

Have touched with frost his coal black hair 

And wrought sad changes everywhere. 

Beneath that same old tree there sat one day 
When thirty years of care had passed away. 
That self-same lad, yet strong but partly gray. 
With doleful look methinks I hear him say : 

"Of the sweets of life I've drunken, 

Reveled in the purple wine, 
Wandered o'er the northern snow lands. 

Slept beneath the southern pine, 
And I've found that every triumph, 

Every pleasure has its pain. 
O, the happy days of boyhood, 

Give them back to me again." 



12 EVENING PASTIMES 

Discontented with our boyhood days, 
Half sad in all its mirthful plays, 
We long for manhood's grander ways, — 
But when to manhood we have grown. 
When all its cares are fully known. 
We learn the man has ne'er a joy 
One-half so sweet as did the boy ; 
'Tis thus at morn we wish that soon 
The morn would blush into the noon, 
And when it's noon we sigh in vain 
And wish that we were young again. 

THE DREAMS OF YOUTH 

Would I had thy touch and power, 
O, fair genius, but an hour 

Here to write upon this splendid theme; 
Then I'd scroll upon these pages 
That the joy of all the ages 

Is the glory of a young man's dream. 

O, the beauty of that dreaming 
When the far-off hills are seeming 

Like bright castles in the sunny skies, 
When the fire of youth enhances 
In a glow of rosy fancies 

All the prospect that before us lies. 

O, the pleasures of deceiving 
Our young selves into believing 

That this world is but a place of joy, 



EVENING PASTIMES 13 

When the shades of future sorrow 
And the clouds that come tomorrow 
Never blind the sweet faith of the boy. 

O, the happy days of olden 

When our hopes were bright and golden 

And the heart was full of sunny dreams 
Fair and tender as the flowers 
In the morning's dewy hours 

Sweetly blushing in the trembling beams. 

In the dark days when it's snowing 
And the cold bleak winds are blowing, 

Then in sweetest trust we long for spring, 
When around us cares are thronging 
Then our worn-out hearts keep longing, 

Longing for the roses June will bring. 

If the day were always round us, 
If the deep night never found us. 

Could we ever see the shining star? 
If our plans were all victorious, 
If our lives were always glorious. 

Would we really know what victories are ? 

And ye stars above me shining 
On sweet heaven's soft blue lining, 

Divining mortal life and hopes and fears. 
Tell me now, ye starry clusters. 
Laved in gold and draped in lusters. 

Will the fates with victory crown my years ? 



14 EVENING PASTIMES 

Through this life we wander groping, 
Onward through the darkness hoping, 

Hoping for some sweeter, brighter day, 
Till at last all hope is ended 
Where the light and shades are blended 

In a gloom that never rolls away. 

As a child when lost and roaming 
Gazes homeward through the gloaming, 

In the distance sees a glimmering spark, 
Hope still sees a faint light quiver 
Far across the dusk-fringed river 

When this parting world is growing dark. 

What is night without the beaming 
Of round moons above us streaming? 

What is life without its hope and plan? 
As the rain is to the flowers 
Thirsting in the sun-scorched hours 

So are faith and hope to thirsting man. 

WIFE AWAY 

It seems so dark and lonely 

Without my love tonight; 
It takes her presence only 

To make this cottage bright; 
For care is always lighter 

And .gloom can ne'er be found, 
The very rooms are brighter 

When pretty wife's around. 



EVENING PASTIMES 15 

A feeling of strange sadness 

Now hovers o'er the place, 
'Twill quickly change to gladness 

At sight of her sweet face ; — 
For like the rosy essence 

That drives the morning dews, 
Her gentle, smiling presence 

Dispels the awful blues. 

Those evil spooks of sorrow, 

Whom mortals ever fear, 
Foreboding bad tomorrow, 

They every one are here; 
And when at night the wind blows. 

Through all the house they roam. 
But they'll fly out the windows 

When pretty wife comes home. 

O, give me back the hours 

We've lived and loved of yore, 
Together plucked the flowers 

That blossomed by our door; 
But hark ! a sound of voices 

And footsteps drawing near, — 
And Oh! my heart rejoices 

For wife and babe are here. 



16 EVENING PASTIMES 

OUR LOVED ONES GONE BEFORE 

'Tis a fancy that I weave, 
Still I cannot but believe 

That our friends who've gone before, 
Sometimes drawing close and near. 
Gently whisper in the ear 

Warnings from that other shore. 

Yesterday I sat alone, 

On the mossy marble stone. 

And I heard a footstep fall. 
Turning quickly then around. 
Nothing could be seen or found. 

No one, no one there at all. 

Once I was about to go 

Where the dark green bushes grow 

For some lilac blossoms fair ; 
Something seemed to softly say, 
''Come away, O, come away, 

There is danger lurking there." 

Then I saw the strong wind shake 
Wide an opening where a snake 

Drew itself along the ground, 
And I know that warning fear 
And the whisper in my ear 

Were no fancy dream or sound. 



EVENING PASTIMES 17 

Often when I'm half asleep 
Strangest touches o'er me creep, 

Fading voices seem to call ; 
Wakened with this quick surprise, 
When I've opened wide my eyes, 

Nothing, nothing there at all. 

Yet I'm sure I saw the trace 
Of a fading, glimmering face, 

Heard a light step on the floor, 
And I know the angels send 
Every one a guardian friend 

From the loved ones gone before. 

A HUNDRED YEARS AWAY 

A hundred years from now 
'Twill little matter how 

The winds may blow today ; 
We'll neither wish nor care 
For pleasure or despair 

Beneath the marble gray. 

Though everything we try 
Should quickly go awry 

In bitter grief today, 
And though the heart should break, 
'Twill little difference make 

A hundred years away. 



18 EVENING PASTIMES 

And if fond hopes of ours 
Should droop Hke drooping flowers 

Upon a wintry day, 
What will we ever know 
About our earthly woe 

A hundred years away? 

The happiest days we've known 
Will have forever flown, 

The friends we love today, 
Their smile, their tender call, 
Will be forgotten all 

A hundred years away. 

Keep not thy flowers till 
Thy friend is cold and still 

But give them now — today ; 
The dead will never care 
About the roses there 

Upon the marble gray. 

WHEN I AM GONE 

When I am gone, let roses bloom 
In beauty near my mouldering tomb 
That I may breathe their sweet perfume ; 
And when the evening shadows come, 
I beg that you will gather some 
Red velvet roses, those I crave, 
And place them tenderly on my grave; 
And from my home beneath the dew 
I'll whisper back my thanks to you. 



EVENING PASTIMES 19 

When I am gone, and in the spring 

The sweet birds from the green boughs sing 

Or warble music on the wing, 

I beg that you will sometimes pass 

Close where I sleep beneath the grass, 

That you will pause and sing for me 

That sweet old song, '7 Still Love Thee"; 

And from my home beneath the dew 

I'll whisper back my love for you. 

When I am gone, and evenings seem 
So lonely, and you sit and dream 
Of old-time friends you still esteem, 
I beg that you, in thought, will stroll 
Close by a little churchyard knoll. 
And think of me in that lone spot 
Where all of man is soon forgot ; 
And as I sleep beneath the dew 
I'll dream of sweet old days with you. 

When I am gone, and men are bold 
With ugly frowns and words so cold. 
And memory turns to friends of old, 
I beg that you will sometimes stray 
Along the churchyard's white walled way 
To where a marble slab is seen 
All draped in matted ivy green; 
And from my home beneath the dew 
I'll whisper words of cheer to you. 



20 EVENING PASTIMES 

POVERTY 

Go search from snowy peak to balmy shore 

Far through the seas and isles, the wide world o'er, 

Among the tribes of every clan and name. 

This sad condition still remains the same. 

That some are rich and some so direful poor 

The very wolf of hunger haunts their door, 

But He who knows what's best and just and right, 

Hath fixed the pretty stars to shine at night, 

Some dim and some with sweet and sparkling light ; 

The flowers blooming in the blithesome field 

An equal phase of beauty never yield ; 

The warbling birds that carol in the spring 

A song of equal sweetness cannot sing. 

And yet the joyous sparrow does not hush 

Because it sings not sweetly like the thrush ; 

And why should man become so grieved and sore 

Because his friends grow rich while he stays poor? 

There are no jewels like the jewel health. 

And true contentment gives a world of wealth. 

LINES ON AN OLD MANSION 

On the view it stands out grandly, 

Rich in beauty, strong in power, 
While the clouds are circling blandly 

Like white ships about its tower ; 
And the sunlight proudly streaming 

Falls like gold upon its walls 
Where soft music pours out, seeming 

Like enchantment in its halls. 



EVENING PASTIMES 21 

In the distance swells the mountain, 

Blue against the soft blue sky, 
On the greensward plays the fountain 

With the lilies blooming nigh ; 
Here is seen, in fullest measure, 

Wealth in all her bright array. 
Here is found the gayest pleasure 

Gladdening every passing day. 

All of wealth, its pomp and glory 

Soon must fade from mortal sight 
As the evening white and hoary 

Darkens into shades of night ; 
And our garlands when victorious, 

Every wreath of fortune's bloom. 
Are but chaplets red and glorious 

Gathered for the mouldering tomb. 

As the summer beam caresses 

Lightly o'er the crimson flower. 
Then the Autumn blast distresses 

All the blossoms in the bower ; 
So our hopes are like fresh roses 

Blushing to a morning sky, 
Soon some wind of fate disposes 

And our flowers droops and die. 

As the dewdrops frozen, sunny. 
Blight the green leaves of the glen 

So the showy love of money 

Mars the nobler worth of men ; — 



22 EVENING PASTIMES 

Costly pearls and golden laces, 
Sparkling in a hundred styles, 

Never charm us like sweet faces 

Wreathed in mirth and dimpled smiles. 

As the chilling winds unkindly 

Toss the Autumn leaves of brown. 
Fate oft lifts the buffoon blindly, 

Whirls the giant quickly down ; 
See, the cloud tints piled up thickly, 

Swiftly turning on the blue. 
Fortune changes just as quickly 

All the rose tints of her hue. 

Like the hollow grooves of ocean 

And the waves of snowy crown, 
Life is but a wave-like motion 

Filled with many an up and down ; 
Though deprived of friends and treasure. 

Though in grief you pass the hours. 
Fortune yet in days of pleasure 

In your path may strew her flowers. 

AN OLD STUMP 

The vulture sails along the evening sky, 
The summer day is drawing to a close, 

I linger where the lengthening shadows lie 
Ere I depart for gentle night's repose. 



EVENING PASTIMES 23 

I love to sit and muse here all alone, 

Beneath the purple bough, the leafy spray. 

In this sweet hidden spot, unseen, unknown. 
And watch the crimson darken into gray. 

The mosses hang like drapery on the trees. 
The curlews from the dreary marshes call. 

The locust shaken in a puff of breeze 
Lets loose its snowy blossoms free for all. 

The vine creeps gently o'er a stump so old 

And twines like mourning round its aged form, 

Here sometime stood a gallant tree so bold, 
The hero of the midnight thunder storm. 

Perhaps its rails may even now resist 

The pilfering herd the verdant crop to save ; 

Perhaps its giant body did assist 
To make the ship that rides the snowy wave. 

Old stump, thou bringeth sweetly to my mind, 
The grandest, noblest man I ever knew ; 

His thoughts were love, his words were always kind, 
He gave his life, his all, the good to do. 

I never hear the Sunday morning bells, 

I never list the evening's silver chimes. 
But pleasant memory gently, sweetly tells 

About a church I knew in olden times. 



24 EVENING PASTIMES 

The pastor kneeled in fervent prayer to God, 
The truths of holy writ he did impart, 

And if for shame a sleepy head should nod, 
The light rebuke was gentle as his heart. 

But now he's old and stooped and very poor, 
His feeble tottering step he slowly drags, 

Too old to preach the sacred gospel more, 
He needs must live in want and pauper's rags. 

O shame, to let the old man hungry go. 

He freely gave a life's long work to make 
This erring world in truth and wisdom grow, 

And men are nobler, happier, for his sake. 

As this old stump is wrapped in flowering vine 

And clothed from wind and storm with verdant leaf. 

So, Lord, may thy sweet tender love entwine 
And blossom round all aged hearts in grief. 

THE RIVER 

I love to wander through the woods alone. 
To pause by running brook or fallen tree, 
I love to sit upon some hoary stone 
That madly juts from frowning bank and see 
The great broad river winding to the sea ; 
'Tis nice amid such solitude to stay 
And dream away an hour; 'tis joy for me 
From this lone spot to view the parting day 
Now slowly drawing from the western hills away. 



EVENING PASTIMES 25 

And twilight comes. The noisy world grows still, 
There float along the sky bright purple gleams, 
There gathers on the river, field and hill 
A lovely tinge of roseate hue that seems 
Fair as the beauty of a maiden's dreams. 
See, on the blue the white round moon appears 
And throws the mellow light in silver streams, 
The zephyr shakes the vine now bathed in tears 
And jars the water like a breast disturbed with fears. 

Away, away, a million miles away. 
Deep in the vault there shines the yellow star, 
There comes a beauty trembling on its ray, 
A gleam of hope and glory from afar. 
I sometimes wonder if those bright things are 
Sweet flowers blooming in eternity 
And shedding luster from its azure bar; 
If in the loveliness of their mystery 
Are folded mortal life and hope and destiny. 

How mild and fresh and balmy is the night; 
Thy clear and placid waters roll serene 
Shot o'er with magic hues and amber light. 
And far along thy either shore are seen 
The tinted clouds reflected on thy green. 
There is a rapture wild, a something bland. 
Deep breathing through the beauty of the scene 
That stirs within my breast the pure, the grand. 
As though each chord were touched to music by His hand. 



26 EVENING PASTIMES 

And now the moon sails like a ship on high, 
Thy glassy wave reflects the trembling star, 
Thy bosom spreads beneath the summer sky 
While o'er it playful ripples lightly jar. 
I hear the laugh of waters from afar. 
Along thy fragrant bank the south wind blows 
As sweet and mellow as fresh flowers are ; 
Enraptured with the scene my spirit glows. 
My troubled soul is drawn, lulled softly to repose. 

Forever do thy pleasant waters flow ; 
The same deep vault of blue is arched o'er thee. 
As in the distant years long, long ago, 
Thou didst roll from the mountains to the sea. 
The mossy rocks, the over bending tree. 
Are mirrored on thy dark green as before, 
All is as it of old was wont to be 
Save that the men who wandered on thy shore 
Lie hidden in the cold damp grave forever more. 

There is for man a hope, a joy, a love, 
There is a life beyond the mouldering grave; 
I read it on the twinkling stars above, 
I hear it in the murmur of thy wave, 
And where thy noisy waters softly lave 
Methinks I hear it sounding o'er and o'er, 
Like music flowing sweet and low and grave. 
An echo coming from that other shore, 
A gentle whispering of a life forever more. 



EVENING PASTIMES 27 

THE MEADOW 
(The Interview) 

I went down in the meadow ; 

Among some violets blue 
I found a little poem, 

I bring it now to you. 

I strolled far through the clover, 

And on my pleasant way 
A tiny blossom whispered, 

"Fd like a word to say." 

I took an old lead pencil 

And wrote as best I knew 
The story of the flower — 

I hand it now to you. 

I came upon a brooklet 

With banks of pink and green ; 
It said for me to tell you 

The pretty things I'd seen. 

And so I come this evening 

Fresh from that interview, 
And bring an humble message 

The meadow sends to you. 

(The Message) 

When the morn is sweet with gladness 

In the early dewy hour, 
When the merry gleams of madness 



28 EVENING PASTIMES 

Leap from rose to purple flower, 
And the light winds chaseth after 

Golden sunbeams on the lea, 
Then the heart, brimful of laughter, 

Throbs in unison with the glee. 

When the eve is rich in splendor 

And the meadow sweet and still, 
When the twilight pure and tender 

Crowns with beauty every hill 
And the western hues are yellow, 

Then a radiance from above 
Warms the cold heart soft and mellow 

With a pure and heavenly love. 

When the moon is round and golden. 

Streaming o'er the meadow bright. 
When the starry wreaths of olden 

Deck with pearl the brow of night, 
And the tired world sleepeth under 

And the winds in stillness lie. 
Then the soul is filled with wonder 

At the grandeur of the sky. 

In the wondrous scenes of ocean, 

In the lovely views on land. 
There are pictures of emotion 

Fashioned with an artist hand ; 
And in every tinted coral. 

Every dewdrop sparkling clear. 
We may read some beautiful moral 

Teaching us that God is near. 



EVENING PASTIMES 29 

Faith and love are ever finding 

In His handwork near and far, 
In the meadow brooklet winding-. 

In the rose and yellow star, 
Artist touches, gentle traces 

Of a hand of wondrous power 
That has painted all the graces 

On the pretty meadow flower. 

THE MORNING SUN 

With gleaming shafts of amber light 
Thou driveth off the ebon night ; 
From o'er the hills, gold capped and blue, 
Thou bringeth fresh as morning dew 
Joy and hope and new-laid plan. 

Thy red light sparkles on the tower 
And on the leaf and crimson flower ; 
Thou carryeth hidden in thy beam 
The final doom of every scheme 
Dear to hoping, trusting man. 

From some weird realm of mystery 
Thou bringeth life and destiny, — 
For some to do, for some to die. 
For some to laugh while others cry 
Ere thy long, long day is done. 

O, let thy gray light softly fall 
Into the homes and lives of all; 



30 EVENING PASTIMES 

If some are sick or some are sad, 
Then let thy gray light make them glad, 
Bright and beautiful morning sun. 

And come each morn and sweetly shine 
On drooping heart and flowering vine ; 
Awaken all the brave and true 
Some sweet, kind deed of good to do 
Ere thy long, long day is done. 

A WAYSIDE RAMBLE 

I hide me from the Great Orb high 
Beneath this lone and broad oak tree, 
Far off a few white clouds I see, 
I hear a jolly brook go laughing by. 

Deep in the tangled thicket near 
The songster of the woodland sings, 
His merry warble sweetly rings. 
And holds in magic trance mine raptured ear. 

Now comes the cool and fragrant breeze 
Fresh from the blossoming wildwood bough, 
It touches lightly on my brow 
And gently soothes me with its lulling ease. 

In yon old open field there stands 
An humble cottage ; 'tis the home 
Of those who till the furrowed loam 
With cheerful hearts and ever willing hands. 



EVENING PASTIMES 31 

I ween that they are happier now — 
Contentment sweetening every charm 
Of quiet life upon the farm — 
Than many wearing coronets on the brow. 

The world applauds the deed, the name, 
But never knows the muffled part. 
The bitter cost to brain and heart 
It took to climb the pink crowned hills of fame. 

Though stubborn fate decree that few 
The heights of glory may command. 
There are no deeds of men so grand 
As little acts of love we all may do. 

I speak of friendships, sweet and old, 
And friendly deeds without renown 
Whose doer wears no wreath or crown 
Though worthy garlands made of pearl and gold. 

Of rural homes I love to sing 
And pleasant fields and waving grain 
Where man though living humbly plain 
In wealth of heart is rich as jeweled king. 

We yearn for lands of flowery clime, 
We fancy we'd be happy there, 
But never see the flowers fair 
That sweetly bloom about us all the time. 



32 EVENING PASTIMES 

How like the rainbow arched at eve 
Whose charm at our approach is gone, 
Ambition leads man ever on 
With luring promise often to deceive. 

Like roses in the Autumn late 
Wind blown upon the frosted air, 
Our hopes and roses everywhere 
Are tossed upon the cruel winds of fate. 

The bloom of wealth, the wreath of power, 
The beauty now admired by all, 
For which men strive and curse and fall. 
Must fade tomorrow like the new mown flower. 

For me, I love this outdoor life. 
The mellow shade of dark green trees. 
The grassy beds of rest and ease; 
I hate the futile wars of city strife. 

How nice to stroll in morning hours 
Among the joys of summer fields. 
Or golden crops that Autumn yields, 
How sweet the freedom and the smell of flowers. 

A strong south wind begins to blow, 
A cloud is gathering on the west, 
The rain will soon disturb my rest. 
So fare you well, my friend, for I must go. 



EVENING PASTIMES 33 



OAKLAND 



When one is worn out with the care and strife, 

The bustle and the noise of city Hfe, 

'Tis sweet to wander to some country scene 

In early fall, where life is grand, serene, 

Before the frosts have touched the foliage green ; 

To hear the waters fall, to breathe the air 

Of peach and apple orchards ripening there, 

Enjoy a table filled with fruit, the charm 

Of sumptuous Autumn on a well-tilled farm. 

We started at the earliest blush of dawn, 

Before the brighter stars were fully gone, 

And as we slowly jogged along our way 

The crimson on the east soon changed to gray 

And rosy morning faded into day ; 

The merry birds began to fly and sing 

And warble sweetly on the airy wing; 

The herds were grazing in the quiet fields, 

The farm hands reaped the harvest Autumn yields 

And cozy homes were dotted here and there 

Like gems to beautify the landscape fair ; 

A few white clouds went floating slowly by 

Like snowy vessels on the placid sky ; 

A brooklet sometimes ran across our way 

And bubbling o'er the pebbles white and gray 

And dancing in the sunbeam's rosy light. 

Then hurrying like a school boy oflf to play, 

Down in the meadow soon was lost to sight ; 

A mountain rose up bold against the view 



34 EVENING PASTIMES 

And stood there like a cloud of threatening hue, 

And sometimes from the summit of a hill, 

When gazing far across the valley still, 

The Shenandoah, a thread of pearl, was seen 

Slow winding through the marshes dark and green. 

Old Oakland now came fully into view, 

And at the threshold there were only two, 

My aged aunt, her lovely daughter May, 

Who took my grip and old felt hat away. 

And bade me rest from morning's weary roam, 

Sit down at ease and make myself at home; 

And aunt and daughter smiled a welcome true 

That thrilled my heart with pleasure through and through. 

There's joy and love and power in a smile 
To win the human heart however vile; 
O, when returning from a foreign land, 
How sweet to grasp an old friend by the hand 
And watch the honest smile of welcome play 
Upon his features like a morning ray ; — 
The true heart ever thrills with joy to trace 
The smile of greeting' on an old friend's face. 

WHEN THE SUN GOES DOWN 

Life is sweetest in the hour 
When the dews are on the flower 
An(i the world is gay and bright 
In the rosy morning light. 
May this be a sunshine day 



EVENING PASTIMES 35 

Filled with work and joy and play, 
In the eve a purple crown ; 
May there be no ebon cloud 
On the far west like a shroud 
When the sun goes down. 

Life is grandest at the noon, 
Yet the noonday hour must soon, 
With the mad rush of the day. 
Like a sweet dream pass away; 
May I leave fore'er behind 
Tender words spoke soft and kind 
And good deeds of fair renown ; 
May the even too be clear. 
No regret and not a fear 
When the sun goes down. 

When the day shall close for me. 
Through the dusk, O, may I see. 
As the evening shades draw nigh. 
Stars of hope up in the sky ; 
When the threshold I attain, 
May there be no blur or stain 
On the pure white of my gown. 
And may faith still point the way 
Through the shadows and the gray 
When the sun goes down. 



36 EVENING PASTIMES 

A MEMORY 

This life is half a vain regret 
Of some mistake we should forget, 
Some part we'd like to act once more, 
And act it better than before. 

I sometimes dream of other days 
When I was glad in youthful ways, 
Enjoyed those charms our young years give, 
My only care to laugh and live. 
Far in the past I often see 
Half hid in folds of memory, 
A graceful form, a face divine, 
A lovely girl I once thought mine. 
Whose gentle name was Jennie Lynne. 

Oft in the twilight glow we sat 

Out on the vine-draped porch to chat ; 

The moments flew with swift wings by. 

The stars came in the soft blue sky, 

The moon rose up ; smiled sweetly down 

On rustling vine and snowy gown ; 

Her dad retiring for the night 

Within put out the old lamp light; 

And still we sat and lingered on 

Scarce knowing how the time had gone. 

And still we sat and whispered love, 

The leafy vine around above, — 

No sound disturbed the night's sweet hush. 

No eye to see her smile or blush. 



EVENING PASTIMES 37 

O, a bonny girl with a tangled curl 
In a sweet breeze from the south, 

O, the joy and bHss of a rapturous kiss 
Pressed right on her rosy mouth. 

Now the moon goes back of a cloud of black 

Like a child that goes to pout ; 
O, my pretty miss, may I steal a kiss, 

Quick before the moon comes out? 

Down in the field we often met 
Beneath a tree that stands there yet 
And if by chance the one was late 
The other never failed to wait. 

There's a lassie there awaiting 

'Neath the old tall poplar tree 
With the pansies on her bosom 

As she watches there for me, 
And her eyes are true and mellow 

And her sunburnt ankles brown 
And she looks just like a princess 

In her pretty calico gowii. 

And she's worth indeed a hundred 

Of your girls with painted face, 
She can smile the sweetest welcome. 

Of deceit there's not a trace, 
And her glossy hair when tangled 

In the summer wind's caress 
Makes her look just like a princess 

In her pretty calico dress. 



38 EVENING PASTIMES 

But, O, the curse that poverty brings, 
How bitter too it sometimes stings, 
And I a rustic lad so poor, 
My father's house, it had no floor, 
But built of logs it humbly stood 
The humblest in that neighborhood ; 
While Jennie's dad possessed a place 
Where comfort always smiled with grace, 
But yet too poor to much assist 
His married children to exist ; 
I saw no hope, I saw no way. 
And so I said to her one day : — 

(I said) 

"I love with all my heart, I vow, 
But am too poor to marry now ; 
I love too well to drag you through 
The drudgery that the poor must do : 
You'd soon grow tired to live all shut 
W^ithin the walls of some log hut; 
Some day I'll build a mansion fair 
And you shall reign my wifie there." 

(She answered) 

"I'll live in wilds and solitude, 
In pine log* cabin rough and rude 
And be your wifie glad and true 
Just so I'm in that home with you." 



EVENING PASTIMES 39 

(I replied) 

'No, no, sweet Jennie, it would break 
My very heart to have you make 
The sacrifice ; we'll love and wait 
Until we've grown quite rich and great. 
And then we'll build a mansion grand. 
The very best in all the land." 

But Jennie looked sad, sad with fears ; 

We kissed and parted then with tears. 

I wandered to the far off west, 

And sought my fortune with the rest 

Along the orange blossom shores 

Down where the blue Pacific roars. 

Next settled on the sunny plain, 

Soon pulled up stakes and moved again; 

The sought good place did ever seem 

A luring myth, a vanishing dream, 

As far as I have ever gone 

I've always found it farther on ; 

At last I grew so awfully poor, 

Grew ever needier than before, 

I ceased to write sweet Jennie more. 

When many years had passed away 
In sober thought I sat one day. 
Recalled the past to studied view 
As men will often sit and do; 
My heart was full of love and pain, 
I longed to hear her voice again. 
I started back still sad and poor 



40 EVENING PASTIMES 

For that rude home I loved of yore ; 
Within that house I felt forlorn, 
A stranger now where I was born ; 
With faltering step I sought a few 
Of those dear friends that I once knew 
And asked for her, my love of old, 
And this is all that I was told : 
They said^that she had married Jim 
And lived in yonder hut with him. 

I scarce believed the words they said, 

But yet felt faint of heart and head ; 

I rushed with hurried step and will 

Ofif to that cabin on the hill 

And as I drew quite close with fear 

A lovely vision came out clear 

Of smooth mown grasses o'er the ground 

And gravel walks all winding round. 

The house was built of logs of pine. 

And o'er the porch there ran a vine 

With blossoms sweet and red and gay 

As open in the month of May; 

I knocked upon the old oak door ; 

It opened on a polished floor, 

And I was asked to have a seat 

Within a room so clean and neat, 

I blushed to have such muddy feet. 

The whitewashed walls were fresh and light, 

The cupboard showed its crockery bright, 

And there sat Jennie neat and trim 



EVENING PASTIMES A\ 

And by her side that rascal, Jim, 

And he was gay as he could be, 

Just laughed and giggled at poor me ; 

I'll envy him until I die ; 

The rascal had more sense than I. 

I said farewell and went away 

A wiser man that summer day. 

And as I slowly walked along, 

My step was weak, 'twas never strong, 

I felt my mind was almost wrong ; 

I stumbled to the old roadside. 

Sat down and thought of suicide, — 

For O, the world of joy and bliss, 

I came so near and then did miss, — 

A sweeter, neater home than this, 

A prettier, truer wife to kiss. 

No mortal man from hut to throne 

Has ever loved and called his own. 

These simple truths I would impart 
Since I have learned them well by heart; 
We do not need a mansion grand. 
The finest structure in the land, 
To lead and live a joyous life 
With some sweet lassie for a wife; 
It does not take a marble hall 
To make a happy home at all ; 
But in some hum.ble cottage neat, 
With pleasant wife and children sweet, 



42 EVENING PASTIMES 

Man spends life's sweetest, brightest days 
Unknown to fame and fashion's ways. 
No royal gown with silken lace 
Can give a form a sweeter grace, 
No sparkling stone, no ring of gold 
Can give a hand a prettier mould ; 
The smile of love at home is worth 
More than the brightest gems of earth ; 
Alas, I've learned it all too late. 
For bachelorhood has been my fate, — 
But who sighs not quite oft in vain 
To do some deed all o'er again, 
For who can live and never make 
In this old world some sad mistake? 

Before I close I want to say. 
For I am wiser now and gray, 
Young man, however abject poor, 
However dark the road before, 
You marry just the girl you love, 
And trust in her and God above. 
And though no mansion looms in sight, 
The years will bring you out all right. 

THE OLD HOME 

Come spend the evening here with me; 
Here stands the house where I was born 
And here I passed life's dewy morn. 
Come sit beneath this old familiar tree. 



EVENING PASTIMES 43 

The splendor rests on field and hill 
And spreads a veil of sweet repose 
About the lilac and the rose 
And falls in beauty on the meadow rill. 

Now after years of weary roam, 
The years that changed these hairs to gray, 
I sit in solemn thought today 
And view the tender scenes of childhood's home. 

And as I fondly ramble o'er 
The grassy lawn adorned to please 
With shady walks that wind with ease 
Sweet memory brings the past to life once more. 

The mosses hang like beards of gray 
From yonder trees and all the place 
Looks aged like a wrinkled face 
That shows the traces of a happier day. 

I wander to the old East room ; 
Far through the dusk of misty years 
A fancy picture now appears 
Of youthful faces full of rosy bloom. 

I follow where the old path goes, 
I trample on the flowery sod 
Where oft my infant feet have trod 
And left the wounded violet crushed with woes. 



44 EVENING PASTIMES 

There stands the shrub still living on 
With dark green leaves and blossoms gay. 
I set it there one cold March day 
Long in the years of youth forever gone. 

And where yon hillside strikes the view 
How oft I've plucked the flowers fair 
That grew in wild profusion there 
When rambling with some friend my boyhood knew. 

And there was one with graceful brow 
And laughing eyes and tangled curl, 
A tall and lovely blushing girl, 
The children often call her grandma now. 

O, does she ever think of me 
And how beneath yon fragrant vine 
I used to hold her hand in mine 
And watch the moonbeams playing on the lea? 

And oft there came at eve a friend, 
A neighbor from across the way, 
To chat with father, old and gray, 
And at our hearth a pleasant hour to spend. 

The rose still blooms upon the lawn, 
Hard by the purple lilac, too, 
But those kind faces I once knew 
From hall and shady bovv^ers I find them gone. 



EVENING PASTIMES 45 

The old-time songs are hushed and still, 
A stranger's step is in the hall, 
No sound of friendly voices call, 
They sleep in silence on yon old gray hill. 

And when the evening sun goes down, 
I love to watch the darkening west 
And dream of friends and lands of rest 
Beyond the sunset hills of gold and brown. 

There come to mind where'er we roam 
The fireside joys remembered yet; 
Can tender memory e'er forget 
The laughing voices heard in childhood's home ? 

There come to every heart and brain 
Sweet dreams of friends with winning ways 
And evening strolls in olden days 
We love to live in fancy o'er again. 

AN OLD DIARY 

Oft I go to memory's dusty closet 

For an old, old book all scribbled on, 
With its blurred leaves in my own hand writing, 

Written in the years forever gone. 

How I love to ponder o'er its pages, 

Though the leaves are writ in awkward rhyme. 
But they tell me of a friend so gentle 

That I loved long in the olden time. 



46 EVENING PASTIMES 

'Twas a childhood friend I loved so fondly, 
With the careworn wrinkles on her brow, 

With her glossy hair fast whitening silver, 
And I love her just as fondly now. 

I remember well her old sunbonnet 

And her smile of love, her eyes of brown ; 

I remember how we plucked the flowers 
In the cool before the sun went down. 

As I gaze today from manhood's summit 
Backward o'er the past, o'er childish plays, 

Through the gloom I see fond memory's picture 
Of a face I loved in those old days. 

'Twas a gentle face all lit with sunshine 
And as fresh as half blown roses are, 

And it smiled into my childish heartaches 
With the gladness of the morning star. 

'Twas a gentle face all lit with sunshine, 
•Of the dearest friend I ever knew. 

And its sunshine fell on all my sorrows 
With the sweetness of the falling dew. 

Do you ask to know my friend so gentle, 
With the old sunbonnet on her head ? 

O, that true 'friend was my own dear mother, 
And she sleeps today among the dead. 



EVENING PASTIMES 47 

THE SEASONS 

Tis winter, gray winter, and the North wind blows 
In a chilling blast o'er the frozen snows. 
And the white flakes whirl in a blinding swarm, — 
But the flowers bloom in my heart still warm 
By the fireside safe from the winter's storm. 

'Tis spring, green spring, and the earth long sad 
Wears a smile today and the fields are glad, — 
May my deeds smell sweet as the fragrant flower 
On the red rose bush in the garden bower 
Decked with pearls of dew in the morning hour. 

'Tis summer, glad summer, and the fields are seen 
Wearing still their robes of a springtime green, — 
May my heart keep young all the summer through 
As the fields keep fresh in their springtime hue. 
Though my hopes prove false and my friends are few. 

'Tis autumn, rich autumn, and I now behold 

Fields of wondrous wealth clothed in brown and gold, — 

May my life be rich when I'm old and gray 

In the wealth of deeds of a summer day 

When the fields were green and my heart was gay. 

WIFE AND I 

We've lived the years of life away, 
The years that turned our hair to gray. 
We've passed o'er many an up and down 
As does the road that leads to town ; 



48 EVENING PASTIMES 

Of smiles and tears, of grief and care 
And poverty too we've had our share ; 
We've grown quite rich in recent years, 
Of want we have no longer fears. 
We live within a mansion fine 
And fields and herds and lands are mine ; 
But still from all this wealth of ours 
I turn to other scenes and hours — 
A cottage home among the flowers 
Where wife and I one summer day 
First started on our wedded way. 
And memory fondly lingers o'er 
That cottage where we lived of yore 
And were so happy and so poor; 
The happiest days we've ever known, 
The days that have forever flown. 
Were passed by wife and me alone 
With children neat and love our own 
In that sweet cottage near the pines 
All draped in morning-glory vines. 

I've learned upon my wedded way 
Some things that I would like to say ; 
I've learned that gold can ne'er acquire 
One-half the things our hearts desire ; 
That tender words and love's caress, 
When our sad hearts are in distress, 
Are worth far more than pearls or dress. 
No road that leads through shadows gray 
But love can brighten into day 
As sunshine drives the mist away ; 



EVENING PASTIMES 49 

No threatening cloud so dark and bold 
But tender love can line with gold ; 
And though in purse we're awfully poor 
And though our cottage has no floor 
And heaven's stars shine through above, 
In all that happy hearts may hold, 
In fortune's purest pearl and gold, 
Are we not rich as kings of old 
When home is brimming full of love? 

THE RUINS OF AN ANCIENT PALACE 

The evening splendors stream o'er crumbling walls, 
No sound disturbs the stillness of the hour 

Except the sound of distant waterfalls 

That rumble from afar with weakening power. 

I sit here in the gloaming all alone, 

I feel so strangely sad, I know not why ; 

My memory strays, my thoughts are not my own, 
They wander back to other days gone by. 

When youth and hope were on the buoyant brow. 
When youth and love were in the trusting heart. 

And all the future seemed to me somehow 
With nothing but gay pleasures to impart. 

The stories by the evening fireside told, 

My mother's smile that made our home so bright. 

The rosy fancies wrought by youth in gold, 
All these come back to me again tonight. 



50 EVENING PASTIMES 

But gone are all the little friends I knew 
In those sweet days of innocence and play ; 

Yet recollection brings their faces back to view, 
Their smiles, their tears and all they had to say ; 

And when in far-off lands I idly roam, 

Though time has wrought the change of many a year, 
I ne'er forget sweet childhood's cherished home, 

Fond memory ever holds the picture dear. 

Of low-roofed cottage and the aspen trees, 
Beneath whose mellow shades I oft did spend. 

At cheerful romp, perhaps at playful tease. 
The hours of pleasure with my little friend. 

In after years of age we hardened grow, 
Grow hard and solemn in the solemn truth ; 

In after years of life we learn to know 

How glad were all the frolic days of youth. 

For manhood brings its hopes and failures fast. 
In purest trust we weave the petty plan. 

We hope till hope is lost in death at last. 
Such is the common lot of struggling man. 

O time! what wondrous changes thou hast wrought — 
The older to the newer must give way. 

The force and magic of the earlier thought 
Is lessened in the progress of today. 



EVENING PASTIMES 51 

O time ! what wondrous changes thou hast wrought — 
The forms, the customs of an older day, 

Its cherished fashions, now are held for naught, 
Lost in the splendor of the modern way. 

In harmony science rolls serenely on, 
The centuries all seem moving to a plan, 

A year of onward progress scarce is gone 

Ere some new victory crowns the work of man. 

We marvel at the things that men have done. 
How wide the fields of conquest may extend. 

And if the centuries will forever run 

Along the ways of progress without end. 

And yet we know that like this fallen stone. 
The thrones of earth, its castles of renown. 

And all of earthly grandeur ever known 

Must yield to time, must fall and crumble down. 

'Tis only noble deeds and truth sublime. 

Not wealth, nor place of height, nor loud acclaim. 

That may withstand the sure decay of time 
And live through ages in undying fame. 

THE COTTAGE 

The pomp of great riches and the glory of strife, 
A dazzle of splendor and is this all of life? 
Is life in a cottage with its roses and vine 
Not worthy of mention in these verses of mine ? 



52 EVENING PASTIMES 

'Tis sweet in the morning in the glad pearly hour 
To stroll from the cottage and to pluck the gay flower ; 
'Tis sweet in the evening as we come from afar 
To hear the low ripple of the mellow guitar. 

How nice in a cottage at the close of the day 
When resting from labor 'twixt the dark and the gray, 
To laugh with the children, in their frolics to vie. 
Is this not a pleasure that no silver can buy ? 

Not all of wealth's splendor though it charms for awhile 
Can cheer the heart lonely like a friendly sweet smile ; 
No mansion though towering to the cloud tints above 
Can make the heart happy like a cot full of love. 

No art in its splendor and no wealth in array 
Can rival the beauty of fair nature's display ; 
No hue of the mountain and no dash of its stream 
Have ever been equaled in a painter's glad dream. 

The charm of the flowers and the joy of the sky 
Are pictures of beauty that no riches can buy ; 
The air and the water and the bright days of fall, — 
Full half of life's blessings are a gift to us all. 

No song full of rapture and no verse ever told 
The world of pure gladness that a cottage may hold 
Where kind words fall gently as the dews from above 
And home is all brimming with the fragrance of love. 



EVENING PASTIMES 53 

THE UNKNOWN 

There's a song- unsung by mortal tongue, 
And a verse unknown of heavenly tone : 

Could I only pen that verse for men, 
Could I only play that song today, 

Like the birds of spring with joy I'd sing 
For the sad in tears my song of cheers. 

There's a love that lies deep hid in sighs 
And a hope unseen still fresh and green 

In the heart untold of young and old ; 
In the far away some sweeter day 

Love and hope will bloom from out the tomb 
Into flowers of gold we loved of old. 

THE ZEPHYR 

Blow softly, light zephyr, o'er the crest of the rose 
And bear its sweet fragrance to some heart full of woes ; 
Blow softly, light zephyr, through the curtains of lace 
And drop that sweet fragrance on some gentle pale face. 

Sing sweetly your music through the boughs of the trees, 
And glide o'er the meadow with a motion of ease ; 
I love your fresh odor in the blush of the morn, 
The smell of the clover and the tassels of corn. 



54 EVENING PASTIMES 

Go gather the rain clouds from the ocean's blue wave, 
And blow the fresh showers o'er the land of the brave, 
And take from the mountain to the valley below 
Its balm and its freshness and the cool of its snow. 

I hear your soft whisper in the deep of the night. 
The hour is so lonesome and the stars are so bright ; 
I hear the sad rustle of the ivy's green leaf. 
It shakes and it trembles like a heart full of grief. 

O, come with low murmur from the past, through the 

gray, 
And bring me fond memories of a land far away ; 
A gleam of old faces round the fireside appears, 
A picture of beauty, through the dusk of the years. 

They are gone, they are numbered with the sweet things 

of old, 
But they live in green memory like bright roses of gold ; — 
And that hour is the sweetest, though the saddest of all, 
When we sit in the evening and old friendships recall. 

Go kiss the white petals of the lily so glad. 
And gather its gladness for all hearts that are sad. 
Then steal through the shutters when the windows are up 
And leave that pure gladness in a brimming full cup. 

Blow gently, light zephyr, o'er the crest of the rose 
And bear its sweet fragrance to some heart full of woes ; 
Blow gently, light zephyr, through the curtains of lace 
And drop that sweet fragrance on some tender pale face. 



EVENING PASTIMES 55 

GOVERNMENT 

My native land, I love but pity thee, 

O, boasted country of the brave and free, 

I ponder o'er thy laws; what do I see? 

Sweet freedom bound with heavy weighted chain 

Until her hands and feet are sore with pain. 

Too many governments all wrapped in one, 

The government business so overdone 

Until perhaps 'twere better to have none. 

'Tis true some rules we need to check the strong 

That on the weak they may commit no wrong ; 

But know ye statesman great and wise and grand. 

Ye learned rulers of my native land. 

That there's a rose called wealth of sweet perfume — 

You prune the bush too much, it will not bloom. 

And though the clime is fair, the long day sunny. 

The work bee dies because there is no honey. 

From tropic lands of orange-blossom fame 

To icy-crystal shores with polar name. 

Is tyranny not everywhere the same? 

Is despotism acceptable just because 

A passionate majority makes her horrid laws? 

'Twould brighten hope and stifle panic fears, 

Enrich the poor and save them many tears, 

Did Congress meet once only in ten years, — 

Too many laws, the last is oft the worst, 

Until the lovely land with law is cursed. 

Alas ! a sadder sight I never saw 

Than liberty chained hand and foot with law. 



56 EVENING PASTIMES 

THE ISLES OF REST 

There's a place I know where the zephyrs blow 
From the boughs with spice perfumes oppressed, 

Where the star night smiles on the flowery isles 
In the seas of sleep with rose dreams blest, 

Not a shadow's trace on the heart or face 
In the beautiful isles of rest. 

When the day is done and the parting sun 
Leaves the gold and saffron on the west 

And we lay the head on the downy bed 
As a bird may huddle in its nest, 

O, how nice it seems as we glide in dreams 
To the beautiful isles of rest. 

When we're tired and worn with the load we've borne 
And our troubled hearts are sore distressed, 

When we close the eyes as the last thought dies 
In the soothing folds of sleep suppressed, 

O, how nice to go where no cares we'll know 
In the beautiful isles of rest. 

MY OLD FRIEND TOM 

I sit today beneath the tall yard tree 

With old-time memories running wild and free ; 

Far in the past there's one I ne'er forget, 

A boyish face I well remember yet ; 

Of all the little friends my boyhood knew, 

O, Tom, I always thought the most of you. 



EVENING PASTIMES 57 

And like a dream it all comes back to view, 

How in the summer evening just we two 

At some sweet innocent pastime romped and played 

Beneath the apple tree's delightful shade, 

Or strolled through meadows fresh and green 

Where bumblebees and clover blooms were seen : 

We leaped the brook, we threw the singing ball. 

We whistled back the redbreast's merry call 

And played with joy in every kind of weather 

When Tom and I were happy boys together. 

And when at school the children sat around 
And ate their noon-hour lunch upon the ground, 
And chattering, laughed and ate in merriest fun, 
And I was awful poor and so had none, 
Then Tom would come and say "Here, Ed, you take 
A great big bite of grandma's ginger cake." 
And sometimes in the overheated game 
The boys got mad and said that I's to blame 
For some mistake (I've seen men do the same) 
And quarreled outright and called me ugly name. 
Then Tom he just stepped out and swore by Ned 
He'd lick the first that put his hands on Ed. 

The years of life have swiftly passed away, 

I'm growing old, my hair is turning gray. 

And when I wander down the cherry lane 

I'm forced to lean upon my hickory cane ; 

My form is stooped, there 're wrinkles on my brow. 

The young folks often call me grandpa now. 



58 EVENING PASTIMES 

I've not seen Tom for many and many a day, 
Not since beneath the trees we used to play, 
But yet of all the friends I ever knew. 
My old friend Tom, I still think most of you. 

How pleasant to recall with vivid truth 

The little friendships of a happy youth ; 

O, does not memory where'er we go. 

Quite often bring to mind in fervent glow 

Some face we knew in days of long ago, 

Some gentle friend of many a pleasant hour, 

Who lives in memory like a fragrant flower? 

Whate'er the tender passion of the heart 

In this cold world the best of friends must part. 

But echoing through fond memory's marble hall 

We often hear their old-time voices call. 

And through the dreamy past, the mist and rain, 

We see their cheerful faces smile again. 

THE HIDDEN HAND 

I cannot tell, I do not know 

What makes the summer flower grow ; 

I often wonder to behold 

The tiny buds in spring unfold 

Their pretty leaves of pink and gold; 

They're richly painted by a hand 

Whose artist touch is simply grand ; 

I strive* in vain to understand 

The magic gift, the wondrous power 

That paints with gold the little flower; 



EVENING PASTIMES 59 

I cannot tell, I do not know 

What makes the garden roses grow, 

I only know I love to see 

Them grow and bloom and smile at me. 

I cannot tell, I do not know 

Where leads this winding path I go ; 

I often tremble when I've found 

How near that path has turned and wound 

Some brink of danger safe around ; 

This life has mysteries dark and grand 

No mortal man can understand ; 

But this I know — some hidden hand 

Is kind and tender — when I see 

The sweet good things that come to me; 

I cannot tell, I do not know 

Where leads this earthly path I go, 

I only know, from day to day. 

To trust that hand to lead the way. 

GENIUS 

Fair genius, lovely gift that all admire, 
How few thy touch of magic e'er acquire, 
Though many woo thee with the heart's desire ; 
'Tis thine to do ; to wear the priceless crown 
Too bright for pompous king of world renown ; 
'Tis thine to flash to starry heights of fame 
As meteors on the midnight heavens flame; 
To win with gentle tact the hearts of all ; 
Enthuse with fiery words the senate hall 
Or with the skilled stroke of the pen in hand 
Stir men to noble deeds throughout the land. 



60 EVENING PASTIMES 

poetry, immortal gift divine, 

What worlds of joy and riches would be mine 
Could I but scribble here with gifted pen 
A graceful line to cheer the hearts of men. 
Could I but scroll one sentiment sweet and strong 
To live forever in my feeble song; 
Alas ! too well I know in harshest strain 

1 strive to please the listening ear in vain. 

REGRET 

The moon comes up ; her robe of saffron falls 
And trails light o'er the lake of crystal blue 
And wide around are arched the old gray walls, 
The bright eyed stars are ever peeping through 
And keeping silent watch on all we do ; 
If there be written on their leaves of gold 
The page of history hidden from our view, 
How many, many changes would be told, 
Could heaven's midnight stars their pearly leaves unfold. 

The night wind blows from off the lonely lake, 

It moans among the pines a sweet refrain. 

So strange, so low, as only spirits make 

When grieving o'er sad memories in vain ; — 

Could men but live this life all o'er again, 

How they would change from their wrong selves and 

how 
The memory of sweet deeds would drive the pain 
Of vain regret from off the aged brow — 
Success would crown that life where all is failure now. 



EVENING PASTIMES 61 

PICTURES 

O, the memories of the past, 
How they cHng and how they last ! 
In the evening's easy chair 
O, how sweet to linger there 
Weaving into brightest hues 
Happy dreams of old home views ; 
Pleasant walks that wound between 
Willows drooping on the green ; 
Smiling faces still we love, 
Old-time friends I'm thinking of; 
How the years have passed away — 
O, it seems but yesterday 
That we strolled on evenings fine 
With her dainty hand in mine 
Where the roses used to grow 
In the years of long ago. 

O, the memories of the tree 

With its pleasant shades for me 

Where the apples reddened soon 

In the crimson blush of June ; 

In this world of toil and care 

Oft I wish that I was there, 

In thy shade, old apple tree. 

Where no troubles wearied me, 

Where the hours through evenings long 

Ran as lightly as a song. 

And the grass, so smooth and clean, 

Spread a velvet mat of green ; 



62 EVENING PASTIMES 

There at ease, long, long I'd lie 
Peeping through the half shut eye 
At thy blossoms white as snow 
In the years of long ago. 

O, the memories of the spring 
Where the mosses used to cling, 
On a summer's parching day, 
To the cool dank rocks of gray ; 
Dear old spring, I love to think 
Of thy oaks and mossy brink 
And the cup so fresh and cool 
Coming from thy glassy pool 
Where the pebbles bright and clean 
In thy crystal depths were seen 
Like a sweet soul laughing through 
Large round eyes of tender blue ; 
In the heart, I keep to-day. 
Pictures of thy rill at play 
Where the lilies used to grow 
In the years of long ago. 

O, the memories of the room 
Shaded in the evening gloom 
Where the old folks chatted on 
In the years forever gone, 
With the heart as gay and light 
As the warm fire sparkled bright ; 
Like a dream from out the years 
Fancy's picture oft appears 



EVENING PASTIMES 63 

Of the lips beneath the gray 
Kissing all our tears away, 
Of the face that used to greet 
With a smile our coming feet 
And the hand that gently spread 
Covers on the trundle bed 
With the pillow white as snow 
In the years of long ago. 

O, the memories of the path 
Winding through the aftermath 
With the breeze of fresh perfumes 
Coming from the clover blooms 
Where our bare feet tripped along 
As the redbird piped a song ; 
O, the golden time of youth 
When the flowers of love and truth 
Into purple blossom start 
In the meadow of the heart; 
Sweet the picture fancy yields 
Of the red barn and the fields 
And the gray horse and the plow — 
I can see the long rows now ; 
These are things we used to know 
In the years of long ago. 



JBBABV 



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